Inner Demons
by Laid Bare
Summary: Prostitutes are turning up dead, their bodies savagely lacerated and reeking of black magic, Full Plot Enclosed R&R
1. Blurb

Prostitutes are turning up dead, their bodies savagely lacerated and reeking of black magic, Detective-Hunter Evelyn McCarran is a witch, working for London's Paranormal Guardian Hunters, a special branch in the police force to deal with such crimes. Eve has to go undercover, trying to infiltrate London's underground, supernatural brothels and strip clubs to find the killer. But it seems that there is more than just some psychopath with a gruesome agenda, as Eve becomes deeper into the heart of the Underground, she finds that it is a network operation with a secret. One they will kill to keep. Eve is going to need help in solving this; and she find it in an unlikely source that comes at a price.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

The smell of death was overwhelming; the stench was a tangy, almost sweet decomposition, like rotting fruit. I could taste it at the back of my mouth, causing bile to churn threateningly in my stomach, my throat working to keep it down. Eyes closing briefly, I tried to rid the sight before me from my mind, but it was still fresh and vivid, etched into the back of my eye lids. I forced myself to look again, because unfortunately, it was my job to look.

As always, it's the eyes that get me. These ones were a soft, rich shade of brown that were often described as expressional; conveying so much emotion to whoever took the time to look deep enough. Now, they stared sightlessly ahead, fixed in horror at something the living couldn't't see. It was apparent that Abby Thomas knew that her death was looming, the fear yet unnerving understanding were preserved in the brown depths.

She was pretty, Abby, but it was obvious that she didn't think so, or at least, had a different image of beauty in her head. Her hair, once a chestnut brown, was now dyed a peroxide blonde, her dark roots showing, turning the top half of her head a blonde-ish green. Underneath the dirty orange tan, her natural creamy skin was becoming a faint pale blue, bloodless. Abby's face seemed the only thing that was still intact, compared to the neck down.

Her neck had been ripped open, as had her chest, stomach and lower abdomen. Her arms and leg were left untouched, but it seemed like poor compensation for the state that her torso looked like. She looked like a chuck of badly cut meat, with vital parts missing. Her rib cage was cleaved open, heart and lungs missing, alongside the fatty tissue that made up women's breasts. Her intestines hung out, the end seemed a little chewed, like a dog gnawing at a bone. I tried to avoid it, but the more professional part of my eye noticed that her uterus had been removed. My stomach lurched and for the second time, I attempted to control it.

I bent near the top end of the body, meeting forest green eyes from across, which regarded me cautiously. Detective Humter Finn Levelly was a touch son of a bitch - quite literally, being a werewolf. So, when Levelly was worried, the rest of us should be shitting ourselves. The fact that he didn't insult me was more than enough to inform me that this was bad, very bad, especially when he had seen more shit like this tha me. As I knelt opposite him, careful to avoid the blood drenched earth, with Abby's body between us, I tried to regain my cool demure. With gloved fingers, I gently moved Abby's wrist, the swollen flesh was ridged with rigor mortis, which said that she had died within twenty-four to thirty hours ago.

The reason why both Finn and I were so late in examining the body was that human police presumed the case to be an animal attack, finding it difficult to place anything supernatural to her body sate. That is, until they noticed that her uterus had disappeared. Unable to host the possibility that a human could do such a thing, they immediately called the Paranormal Guardian Hunter department, which catered for such paranormal situations. Of course, such things could be avoided if each force had a supernatural on the team. But good old prejudice prevented many humans from wanting to be in the same room as someone who was 'abnormal'. So we were reluctantly called in after duty won out over disgust. It didn't help that I wasn't an official member of the force, per say. Every PGH branch needed a different flavor of supernatural and I seemed like the only witch willing to help. Or could be bribed with designer shoes.

After a long silence, I raised a brow in question at Finn. "Abby Thomas, age twenty. Last seen alive leaving her night job, Dirty Angels, - a known strip bar catering for both humans and the super natural - at three Sunday morning." I checked my watch, it was just going on nine Tuesday morning, which meant that within thirty hours, Abby had been abducted, mauled, lacerated and dumped in a ditch, where she had spent the last twenty-four hours or so, decomposing and waiting to be found.

"Her flat mate reported her missing when she didn't show up on Monday; she said that her phone wasn't ringing. She contacted Dirty Angel's - they told her that Abby left with every intention of going home since she had been working overtime." Finn's voice was cool, devoid of emotion. It was a trick you learned after a few years on the force, after you seen too much death and blood, that you just go on autopilot, assessing the situation without feeling. Finn Levelly had been on the force before super naturals came out of the closet, so to speak, four years ago. When the Supernatural Registration Act was passed - where your name and species were recorded and accessible to every employer in the country - many 'Naturals in the army, navy and force were under a lot of fire. It was only recently that PGH departments were set up and that was after a lot of pro-'Naturals politicians argued that we needed to police our own if humans wanted to be safe.

Finn never talked about the shit he received from so-called friends, who turned on him the moment they discovered he turned furry once a month. I mean, I friggin' bleed out my vagina once a month, but then, a lot of men discriminate because of that too. "She was a stripper - one with a penchant for vampires." Finn's voice pulled me out of my retrieve. Automatically, my gaze darted to her neck, the tears around it were jagged, like there was spaces between the teeth - or possibly claws. Whatever damage done to her neck wasn't because of vampire fangs.

Noting my confusion, Finn explained; "Femoral artery." I felt my stomach heave. Oh, Abby sure liked vampires, since she allowed them to drink form the most intimate part of a woman's body. "It wasn't a vampire," My Irish accent came out thick than normal; maybe because I was too busy trying to repress vomit to tone it down. Finn waited expectantly for me to elaborate. "The blood," I waved a hand over the stained earth that we knelt in. "A vampire takes blood from its victim - its instinct. The only bite marks on her body was between her thighs. The blood came from her chest and abdomen - the obvious killing wound."

Finn nodded, like I had just confirmed something he already suspected. His shocking red hair lowered as he bent to take a closer look. "Were?" I asked, mainly because I was sure that Finn would recognize the kill of his own kind. "Possibly," his voice was thoughtful as he studied Abby's untouched face, not bothering to look up. "Its savage enough, but the full moon isn't due until next week. If it is a wolf - it's a rouge one."

I shivered, not because of the early morning cold either. Rouge wolves are savage, mindless beasts that force upon the Change without the aid of the full moon. It's when their human side is taken over by their inner wolf, killing brutally. I have thankfully never come in contact with a rouge wolf, though I heard enough to be careful when crossing a wolf when there was no full moon. Not that you would cross a wolf on a full moon either, but you know.

Finn raised his head, shaking it slightly. "I don't smell wolf," It took me a moment to notice that there was a ring of gold around his green eyes, and that the shape around them seemed more angular than what was human. Partial shift. I looked away, mainly because I didn't want Finn Levelly to see the surprise on my face. Once again, I found myself drawn to Abby's eyes. Without realising, I leaned forward, closer to Abby's face, just like Finn had moments earlier.

There was something there, a faint wisp of a smell that toyed with me, something I knew but just couldn't remember. I edged closer, so that my nose almost brushed Abby's, from anyone else's point of view, it would have looked like I was kissing her. There, so faint that I could have so easily have missed it. The burn of Sulphur tickled at the inside of my nose. If you were raised by magic wielders with any sense or any kind of morals, you would have been told from day one that Sulphur was the smell of evil. And by evil, they meant demons.

Now, demons are some dangerous shit - trust me, I learned the hard way. Since I'm not the whitest witch on the block, I am the first to admit that I had a rebellious adolescence which led me to believe that a demon would help me pass my A-levels. Trust me, I did, but I came out of the whole ordeal with a small, barbed-wire-like tattoo on my left wrist. A small reminder that I'm in debt to the demon that helped me. For the last five years, since being eighteen, I hadn't heard a word from the demon. Something that is more of a worry than a relief. Those sons of a bitch never forget.

Which lead me back to Abby. Who would want to kill her by means of a demon? Dealing with a demon is soul-shattering shit and if your request is big enough, you may be required to pay a human sacrifice as a tribute. So, was Abby's death a request or a tribute? Somehow the latter seemed more likely. I relayed my thoughts to Finn.

"A demon?" his frown made him seem years older than twenty-seven. I wriggled my nose a little in attempt to rid the burn of Sulphur, which earned me a strange look from Finn. "So, we can presume that our suspect is a witch?" Finn's eyes had returned to normal, which was a bit of a relief. "Or a shaman." I corrected. "In fact, there are a number of magic wielders that are capable to summon a demon." Yes, but few had the knowledge or the power. Or maybe a lot just had a good dose of sense.

"Like you?" Finn's voice was soft, his eyes intent on my left wrist. Werewolves are inexperienced with demons, a reason to why Finn hadn't noticed the Sulphur, but I'm around London's PGH force as the witch with a taste for the dark side. So star trek.

"Yeah," I looked away, rising from Abby's body and Finn. "Like me." I turned making my way back to my sleek, shiny black Lamborghini. No, I didn't pay for this out of the money I earned in LPGH, but I do have other jobs and yes, their legal, most of the time. I sighed, switching on the engine. I would have to interrogate Abby's flat mate alongside the manager of Dirty Angels and a few work colleagues, top that all off with a report. Well aren't I just the happy farmer, eh?

Yeah, like fuck I am.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The soft tinkling of the bell overhead announced my arrival whilst I fought to breathe against the sudden onslaught of incense that clouded the air. The heady sweet fragrance made my nose burn not unlike the way the sulphur did just a mere hour or so ago. Back in the bustling heart of central London, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone and give my not-so-favourite shaman a call.

My Jimmy Choo's echoed against the worn board of _Enchanté_, the tiny and almost forgotten little New Age shop just off Hammersmith High Street. Eying the various dangling crystals from overhead and the dull glint of old, tarnished jewellery that winked in greeting, a faux, cultured French accent floated towards me.

"… but darling, it is the beauty of magic, no?"

Coming around to the back end of the little shop, I folded my arms under my breast to see the shop's owner, Jean-Claude, lean against the countertop towards a young looking redhead. One of the reasons why Jean-Claude wasn't my most liked of the magical community asides from his cringe-worthy fake persona, was his leery attitude. I knew from personal experience that as he leaned close to 'talk' to the pretty teen that he was sneaking a peek down her top.

"I guess," The girl's corkscrew curls fell to one side as she tilted her head in thought, her voice still filled in indecision. I watched a as flare of frustration filled Jean-Claude's blue gaze before it shifted over his customer's shoulder to fix on me.

"Ah!" I arched a brow at the sudden display of delight on Jean-Claude's face. "Madame Evie – my dear," His focus turned back to the redhead, his long, almost elegant hands resting on her shoulders to turn her interest on me. "If you do not believe me, this divine witch shall put you at ease. Evelyn is one of London's most profound witches – coven leader material." I scowled at that, but turned towards the redhead who had fresh, elfin features littered with a smarting of freckles.

"I was just telling this lovely mademoiselle," Jean-Claude's voice drew my attention once more. "That our starter kit is just what she needs to begin her journey along the magical path of witchery." From behind the girl's back, I saw Jean's baby blues widen as he tried to convey a silent message to me.

"You're a witch?" I turned to the girl. "Are you from a family of witches?" She shook her head, just like I expected her to. "Have you been tested?" From the corner of my eye, I could see Jean-Claude's face twist into a dark scowl and I had to fight the smirk off my lips.

"Tested?" There was a squeak in the girl's voice, one that made me rethink her age by a good few years.

"Yeah," I shot a dark look at Jean-Claude. "The government offers tests to all registered humans who question their species. Just go to your local GP to make an appointment." I didn't mention that we witches could recognise each other instantly if their magic was unguarded like hers would be if she had any. She didn't but as much as I disliked Jean-Claude most of the time, pissing him off and exposing him as a fraud all at once would hardly work in my favour.

"Oh," The girl's gaze darted between Jean and myself. "Well, I better make an appointment." She muttered, nervously adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she edges her way towards the door.

"Wait!" Jean-Claude called as she hurried to leave. "Even non-magic users can own a protection spell!" But the shop bell was already tinkling in that high, light mocking ring. With his potential customer gone, the open, pleasant look from Jean's face fled as furious eyes turned towards me.

"And what do you want?" He demanded, his French accent losing its charm in an instant. "Asides from chasing away my customers." Pushing off the counter top in harsh, jerking movements Jean-Claude disappeared around the back behind the parting of a crystal –bead curtain.

"Oh, come on." I rolled my eyes, even though Jean couldn't see it. "You know as well as I do she was as magic as a tube of toothpaste." Moving, I jumped to sit on the counter, my short legs dangling. Admiring the sight of my black heels in the low lighting, I continued. "Extortion is a crime and I would hate to have to put you in cuffs."

A disbelieving snort floated up to me, followed by Jean's scornful tone. "The black witch speaks to _me_ about morals." I scowled at that, glaring over at the curtain just as Jean-Claude appeared, swatting the crystals away with an irritated hand.

"The black witch speaks to you about a murder." I snapped back, darkly satisfied to note that surprise flitted across his pissed expression before his glare returned.

"No," He shook his head belligerently, his brown waves flying. "Oh no – no, no, no, _no_." With glinting, furious eyes Jean-Claude stormed past me. "I will not be a part of this – if you wish to sell yourself to the police then that is your choice, but do _not_ bring me into whatever little mess you are already in."

I sighed, looking away from my killer heels. "Jean-Claude-,"

"No!" Jean snapped, the wide arms of his 'magical' robes flapping as his hands cut through the air. "Do not 'Jean-Claude' me." His expression twisted into a mocking imitation of me, eyes wide and lashes fluttering while his smooth, deep voice rose a few octaves to a feminine pitch. "Oh Jean-Claude help me! How _ever _will I be able to pay for my ridiculously priced shoes if I don't betray my own kind to the humans? Please help me, even though I don't give you anything in return. I just sashay in and chase away your customers…"

"I don't sashay," I protested, frowning slightly as I felt my head throb painfully on the left side at my temple. Jean-Claude's whining, the heady incense and the stress of this demon-murder were starting to take its toll. "I just need a few names."

His act finished, Jean abruptly dropped his hands, the rings one each and every one of his ten fingers glinting mutely. "Do not talk to me of needs, Evelyn." His blue eyes flared and for a moment, it wasn't because of righteous anger. In a swift collection of strides, Jean-Claude was in front of me, his hands resting either side of the counter where I perched. The close proximity of his body with mine just made everything about me spin all the more.

Leaning close, the deep velvet of his voice returned, replaced by an accent that seemed more genuine than his French one, but it was one I could never place. "We were good together," He insisted in a stressed whisper. "_Magical_."

I found that the pounding in my head intensified, a jarring sensation that seemed to feel like a weight was compressing against my skull. But all I could see, think, was how perfectly blue Jean-Claude's eyes were. The kind that could be both icy and yet burn like the hottest part of a flame, the kind of blue that people sought but never could recreate. In those blue depths I became lost in the memory of his bronze body moving against my pale one, the feel of his flesh against mine as our bodies joined, our magic melding together until we were one in every aspect.

My head jerked, my chest heaving with effort as sweat coated the exposed flesh of my trembling body. The pain in my head resided – just a bit. But it was more so the pressure against it that caused the most relief. Sagging a little, my quaking arms was all that kept me upright. With an immense amount of effort on my part, I summoned a glare at Jean-Claude but the effect was lost as I swayed unsteadily. "Compulsion is chargeable offence."

"By all means," Jean's voice had returned to its normal timber. "Put me in handcuffs." But the heat that had once been his voice had cooled to the casual light teasing that we always shared. Offering out a hand, Jean stepped back to give me some room.

I stared at the hand like it was a nest of vipers, debating whether or not my legs could support me. But compulsion always left the victim disorientated and to be honest, I didn't deserve the dignity of walking on my own after leaving my mental shields down. Even if it was just Jean-Claude.

Hesitantly, I took his hand and eased myself off the counter. My legs shook but Jean's other hand snaked around my waist to support me, his strides slower than usual as he lead me towards the back behind his little beaded curtain. The little backroom held the same ambiance as the front, dark, faded wood with the heavy drapes of silks and the scent of incense. With shelves stacked with archaic heavy-bound books and jars filled with various substances – some alive and some not, Jean-Claude settled me into the frayed, sagging couch nestled in the corner.

The couch groaned pitifully beneath me and for a moment, I thought I would break it. But it held and after a moment, I eased myself down so that I could stretch out, my head against the spitting armrest as I watched Jean-Claude busy himself with a blackened kettle on the far side of the room. With his back to me, I took the time to study him though heavy, half-opened eyes as he worked, how his ringed fingers combed the chin-length brown waves of his hair, the memory of doing such an action myself surfacing.

Sleeping with Jean-Claude had been a drunken mistake – but it was more so the cause of magic than actual alcohol. We had done a circle, one to acknowledge the new moon and to let our magic coincide with its majestic power. It was standard for all witches to do such a thing, but somehow we had created a manifestation of power, our own heightened to the point where our bodies struggled to hold it all in.

With so much magic coursing through us, high off the rush, we craved an outlet. Sex is just one of the ways to channel power but as much as I didn't want to admit it, we had done something magical that night. Something I didn't want to think about.

Too lost in my own thoughts I hadn't realised that Jean had returned until the spiced scent of ginger and cinnamon wafted under my noise, causing it to wrinkle. Pulling a face at yet more overpowering scents, I accepted the steaming mug from Jean-Claude, curling my legs under me so that there was room for him to sit.

But he didn't. Instead, Jean-Claude moved towards one of two unstable-looking wooden chairs, setting his own mug against the rickety table between them next to his murky crystal ball. As the steam rose, Jean-Claude's long, artistic fingers began to fiddle absent-mindedly with his pack of tarot cards. It seemed like an almost nervous gesture.

He waited until I began to slip my tea before speaking. "Tell me about this murder."

Wrapping both hands against the heated ceramic to chase away the chill off my fingers, I watched Jean-Claude from over the rise of steam. "Demon summoning," Even in the low lighting I could see how the blood drained from Jean's tanned, sculptured features. "I suspect it to be a sacrifice rather than a request – the victim was a stripper." Blowing my tea to take another sip I continued. "A human sacrifice as payment means we're dealing with a level three demon at least."

Still not touching his own tea, Jean-Claude toyed with his deck though his eyes had a strange, far-away look. "And the names? You want me to make a list of people who are capable of summoning a demon of that level?"

I nodded. "Registered, unregistered - black, white. I need every magic user in London who could be a possible suspect." For a moment a glimmer of a smile played on Jean's lips but it seemed like a dark, almost humourless one.

I arched a brow in question at what he found so morbidly funny and he complied with a smirk, his gaze dropping to my exposed wrist with my little barbed bracelet. "You do realise that your name is on top of this list, no?"

"Yours is hardly down the line."

Jean-Claude made a noise at the back of his throat, one that sounded suspiciously close to a snort. "Yes, well. If you thought me capable of demon summoning you wouldn't have come to me for help." He paused, giving me a knowing look. "You know, you could have just gone to Melissa. She would have been more than eager to help you."

It was my turn to snort, though my features twisted in contempt as I did so as I thought of Melissa, London's newly appointed head coven witch. "More like she wants a chance for me to owe her."

Jean-Claude clucked his tongue in disproval, finally putting down his cards to drink his cooling tea. Pausing with his lips at the rim, his blue eye bore into me. "You cannot avoid her forever. The very least you can do is show your face at one of her circles."

I didn't comment; frowning down at my dark orange tea as my thoughts shifted from Abby Thomas to Melissa Wyatt. Since moving to London, I made it my personal goal to stay out of supernatural politics, especially the magical kind. Melissa was the new head of London's coven – the sort-of council that represented all witches in the county. She answered to a higher authority – the Elders – but apart from them and the actual government, she was ultimately in charge.

While I hadn't met her personally, she had summoned me on many occasions with a relentlessness that bothered me. I was meant to be person-non-gatta, being both a black magic user and the only witch who openly worked for the police. Our last Head had left me well alone so Melissa's sudden influx of interest didn't exactly put me at ease.

"That's easy for you to say." And it was; Shamans did not have the same hierarchical structure as witches. While they were more than welcome to be a part of our community, to cast circles with us, to sire children with us, they were not constricted by our rules nor were they pressured by the Elder's enforcement of said rules. Witches worked in units, covens. Shaman's were more like lone wolves who occasionally group for survival needs.

Jean- Claude merely shrugged but said little else, but his gaze kept returning to the tarot cards by his side. Unable to take any more, I gave an exasperated huff, sitting up to drain the rest of my tea. I was feeling better now – the special blend that Jean had made me doing what it was supposed to in returning me to my full bill of health. If only it would work so well on my problems. "Alright," I muttered, eyeing the cards warily. "Before you burn a hole through them."

Moving, I was pleased to note that my limbs were steady as I made my way to the opposing chair, watching at Jean-Claude shuffled.

"You do not have to," He murmured gentle but complied in dealing out five cards, all faced down. I didn't say that I _did_ have to do this – that when Jean-Claude got an itch to deal the cards of Fate you're better to take their warnings.

Hand hovering over the first card, the massive ruby that dominated his little collection of rings gleamed. Arching a questioning brow at me, I nodded for Jean-Claude to proceed. "The Hermit," A frown laced his tone and for a moment, that unknown accent was back. When he noted my blank expression, Jean-Claude's blue eyes rolled. "I thought I told you to learn tarot." He, along with my mother and every other magic user in my life. And runes. They were all bat-shit-crazy about runes.

I smiled sweetly. "Why bother when I have you?"

Not looking nearly as flattered as he should have been, Jean-Claude turned back to the card. "The Hermit signifies an important task – one that is too much for you to bear alone." I eyed the hunched-backed man whose body bowed with the weight upon his shoulders and couldn't help but sympathise. "You will need help if you are to succeed."

"Again, you." The Hermit wasn't so bad; I had expected much worse than a task that I couldn't do on my own, shit, I could have come to that conclusion all on my own.

Jean-Claude moved onto the next card, turning it over with little to no hesitation. His sudden intake of breath made me focus on the revealed card. "The Devil." Jean muttered, his brows pinching in worry.

"Yeah," I eyed the almost grotesque red face that leered up at me. "I know that one." It was a familiar sight – the card turned up every time my fate was dealt. Much to my mother and grandmother's horror. "Desire clouds judgement, opportunities arise for a darker nature to show." I was getting tired of _that_ particular card showing up – it seemed to haunt me wherever I went which was one of the many reasons why I refused to learn tarot.

Still frowning at me – probably displeased with my lack of concern for my cards so far – Jean-Claude continued by moving onto the third.

"The V of Cups," Jean's troubled gaze darkened before he flipped over the next card and the one that followed after, not bothering to explain their meaning to me. "VIII of Cups, the Knight of Swords in reverse."

"Which means?" I prompted, looking from the cards to Jean-Claude.

"It means," Jean muttered as he tore his gaze away from the fades, worn cards. "That your near future is a bleak one." Pointing to the V of Cups, he explained in a grave voice. "You are to be surrounded by illusions, things are not what they seem and deception is on the horizon. The demand of unfinished business to be taken care of beckons." He pointed to the VIII of Cups. "Self-sacrifice. Affairs of the heart must be handled with care, pain seems inevitable. The reversed Knight," Jean heaved a sigh whilst I glanced down at the armoured figure with a sword raised above is head as if in preparation of battle. "Trouble surrounds you in the form of both allies and enemies are determined to see you fall. You must be bold and confront them head on."

I stared at the five cards with a sinking feeling. I rarely got my cards dealt but when I did, my cards had a habit of coming true. My grandmother had said something about how my fate was more in tune with the universe than most. Something about my fate having a greater purpose.

"So," I willed my tone to be light as I glanced back up at Jean-Claude, willing a small, albeit pathetic smile on my lips. "I'm fucked?"

A ghost of a smile flitted across his features but it was chased away with that deeply disturbed expression. "_Oui, mon amour._" He raked his hand though his hair. "Fucked you are indeed."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

After leaving _Enchanté_ with Jean-Claude's promise that he would get me the names I needed, I found myself back at home, the door to my little flat closing behind me life a sigh of relief. The ominous warning in the cards hard haunted me on the drive back home. Kicking off my heels, my toes sunk into the soft wool of the rug, just as the soft tinkling of a bell sounded as Prada padded towards me. "Hey baby," I cooed as I dumped my keys and back onto the little table by the door.

Prada gave a soft cry, butting her silky black head against my leg. Bending down, I gave the fur behind her ear a little scratch before straightening, casting a wary eye about the small one bedroom I owed. Unlike Jean-Claude, I had little fondness for incense, more so content with vanilla scented candles and the cliché dark, archaic witch look.

Up on the fifth floor, I had one of the better views of pear grey skies and tops of posh Chiswick homes. I had only been able to afford such a flat – even one as small as mine – after I had taken up the offered job with PDGH. I know about every witch, shaman and magic user I've ever come in contact with who hasn't openly voiced their less than favourable opinion about my line of work. As far as they were concerned, I was giving centuries – no, millenniums – of magical knowledge to humans so that they could trial and prosecute us.

With Prada at my heels, I trailed from the living room to the marble kitchen worktop that divided the two rooms. I loved the kitchen I rarely got to use since my unholy hours demanded my time rather than shopping in quaint little organic shops like most people in my improved neighbourhood did. Opening the stainless steel fridge, the empty content – save from Prada's chow and a couple of bottles of wine – only confirmed it. Eying the pitiful sight, I pulled out a tin of cat food and muttered to myself. "Pizza it is." Five o'clock in the afternoon was a little early for dinner but I had skipped lunch and my breakfast consisted on little else than litres of coffee and a few energy bars.

Picking up Prada's bowl, I frowned a little when her little black form didn't start rubbing against my legs with impatience. Pulling back the metal seal, I paused when I heard her cry. Glancing around, I didn't immediately see her until I peered around the kitchen island to the living room. Large green eyes blinked at me before turning to the phone that stood in its cradle. Her trail swished and Prada gave another cry just as the phone lit up, it's shrill ring echoing through the still apartment.

Arching a brow at the suspiciously smug looking cat, I moved to the phone whilst it rang on persistently. Glancing at the caller ID, unease prickled as I pressed the call button to answer Finn. "What is it?" There was no exchange of pleasantries – perhaps if I had another partner other than an uptight werewolf, but sometimes, Finn's bluntness rubbed off.

The static on the other line did little to mask Finn's grim tone. "There's been another body."

_Fuck._

"Where?"

I could hear noise in the background, the familiar whine of traffic fading in and out but Finn confirmed my suspicions. "Closer to home this time – White City." I frowned at the sudden closeness of the murder compared to Abby's body which had been dumped on the outskirts of London – a good few hours' drive. I was now looking at about twenty minutes from home. "We need you to confirm traces of sulphur over the victim's body."

There was more to it than that, but Finn didn't really have to tell me my job over the phone. After being informed that he would send me the location he hung up without saying goodbye. Not that I expected him to. Staring at the phone in my hand, I transferred my gaze to Prada, who sat watching me with an expectant expression.

"Well," I muttered, setting the phone back into the cradle. "At least one of us gets to eat."

The drive to White City was a little longer than I had anticipated due to the rush hour of traffic – thousands of commuters homeward-bound after a long day's work. I envied them and my dark mood only intensified when I drove past _Westfields_, the large shopping complex that held many of my coveted designer stores. As a small consolation as I willed myself to drive on, I pictured the Gucci blazer and shorts I had my eye on for a while now, their pictures having been tapped to my bedroom wall as a daily motivator.

But sometimes even the promise of Gucci couldn't make a girl want to face yet another dead body.

When I finally pulled up outside what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse that presumably had been a collection of offices before, I had to add a Chanel bag to my list get myself out the car. Police tapes surrounded the building and while few loitered about, trying to catch a glimpse of inside, many avoided the flashing blue lights completely.

As I ducked under the tape, one of the officers standing nearby frowned at me, his strides long as he made his way over. "Miss, this is a crime scene, I will have to arrest you if-," I flashed him my Prada purse where my PDGH badge was, cutting him off. I watched as his eyes focused on a certain word, one that I was legally bound to have on me at all times. _Witch_. I always know when they see it; humans rarely hide their surprise, disgust. But he was on duty and sometimes, a death is more important than hate.

Stepping aside to let me pass, I fought the urge to cast a little jinx to teach the young officer a lesson. Any magic with malicious intent was illegal but he wouldn't be able to prove a harmless fungus spell now, would he? But like a good little black witch, I resisted temptation.

Walking into the dark enclave of the abandoned warehouse, I strode past the lingering clean-up crew and made my way over to where the crime scene photographers were, wrinkling my nose t the damp, moulding scent that just held trace of decay. This new body was a fresh one. From the crowd that surrounded what I presumed to be the body, a familiar shock of copper hair and green eyes broke away from the throng. Finn greeted me half way with a scowl, his hands shoved deep into his trouser-suit pockets.

"You took your time."

I spared him a glare as we both made our way back to the body. "I do have a life, you know."

"I'm sorry a young woman's death cut your circle-time, Evelyn." Finn's usually stoic features were hard with anger. Anger I was more than happy to return.

"Quit acting like it's your time of the month," I shot back. "You still have weeks until the full moon." Quickening my pace before he could make another retort, I mentally readied myself for what I was about to see. But really, nothing can prepare you for a demon's slaughtering.

Like Abby, this girl was untouched save for her torso. Ribs that seemed to have been pulled back as if large hands had tried to open her up. Skin and bone mingled with body tissue and blood. Not wanting to look at the sight more than I had to, I found my gaze dropping to the floor where dirt and debris lay scattered. I frowned when I caught sight of what looked like chalk a metre or so away from the body, a pool of blood seeming to always seep out to reach it.

Bending down for a closer inspection, I saw the familiar sight of what appeared to be candle wax residue. "This is the place of death?" I asked surprised, looking up to see Finn watching me. He nodded and I glanced at the body with another frown. "Who is she?"

"The identity is unknown," I glanced over at one of the photographers who stood near, a woman with large brown eyes to match her deep-set skin colour. "We've already taken DNA samples to run by the lab." I nodded in thanks, turning back to the body. There was little to go by other than her state was like Abby's. And maybe lingering traces of sulphur.

But my empty stomach clenched at the thought of getting close to the body so to buy myself some time, I looked over my shoulder at Finn. "Can we place the time of death?"

Finn's head was tilted as if he were listening to something, expression holding that far-away look as if he was somewhere else, lost in thought. Minutes past before Finn blinked, evidently returning to present before sparing me a glance. "Around twelve hours." The full weight of his glare turned on me as he focused. "Do your job, McCarren."

I didn't bother telling him that I _was_ doing my job. I was a Detective Hunter – even if I was a reluctant, on and off one. I wasn't some sniffer dog but then, I didn't dare say that to Finn. I still think it's a sore spot. With little else to prolong it, I found my gaze turning back the poor body of the girl who had been yet another sacrifice.

Lowering my head, I found the unmistakable acrid burn lingering in the air above the body. It was stronger, perhaps due to being fresher than it had been on Abby's. "It's here alright," I muttered, pulling away but I had a good whiff of it and now, that coppery, metallic taste coated the back of my mouth. "So, we have a serial-killing demon summoner."

Straightening, I glanced at Finn. "What were you listening in to?" I asked, curious as I recalled the distant look he had worn just moments before. Finn jerked his head a little in surprise his green eyes widening before he glanced sharply around.

"Not here."

My brow arched at that before I looked back at the body. "We done here?" Finn nodded, his eyes already narrowing in suspicion. I beamed. "Good, I'm starving – you can tell me all about it over some food." Despite being surrounded by human officers, a lacerated body and a bleak near-future looming, the utter shock on Finn's face cause a laugh of pure delight to leave my lips. "And if you play nice," I added for good measure as colour rose in his cheeks. "I'll even pay my share."

Despite his initial shock and reluctance to spend more time with me than what was required of him, Finn and I left the warehouse and found ourselves in a little café just a five-minute walk away from the crime scene. The small little square of tables and chairs was blissfully warm and somehow removed from the evident danger that had happened on its doorstep.

A few builders sat in the corner, chatting boisterously over their full English breakfasts that was served at all times of the day while a couple huddled together over some coffee, their hands intertwined under the table. The sight of them made me wonder what Finn and I must have looked like – a thin girl with a thick fall of black hair and grey eyes dressed head-to-toe in designer with a grumpy redhead with guarded eyes and a shoddy suit and a day's worth of golden stubble.

Looking at Finn as he strode confidently over towards the furthest, most isolated table possible in the tiny café, I had to wonder if he saw things as I did – how to unsuspecting eye, we looked like a couple – albeit an odd one. There was an obvious age difference – five years – aided by the added stress that Finn endured. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties rather than twenty-seven and I know that I looked young – wide eyes and a good complexion could give the illusion of a few years.

Taking the seat opposite him, I frowned at the menus mounted on the wall behind him, trying to make out the lettering. Seeing me squinting, Finn arched a brow with a disapproving look. "You should wear your glasses more," He commented, perhaps recalling the time he had seen me with them. It had only been once and even though they were Guess, I hated them and swore that I wouldn't bother.

Obviously getting tired of me struggling, Finn sighed, turning in his seat. "What are you trying to-," But his voice died as his head snapped back angrily to me. I knew what he saw – the words on the board had magnified, bleeding in size until they were at least twice as big.

"Evelyn!" Finn growled my name in a low warning, his eyes flaring as he swept a glance about us to see if anyone had noticed.

Ignoring him, I smiled at the waitress who hovered hesitantly over by the till, watching as she made her way over. "I'll have a cheese and bacon omelette with a side order of chips and a coke." I arched a brow at Finn who merely gruffed his own order of black coffee.

When the waitress was out of earshot, Finn leaned over the table to whisper with a hard expression. "Are you trying to out yourself?" He demanded. "You can't use your – your…"

"Magic?" I supplied helpfully, leaning back in the plastic chair, arms crossed over my chest. "And yeah, I can actually." I watched as Finn's expression darkened but I spoke before he could begin his lecture. "We've been out for years now – I can do magic, just nothing illegal." My tone softened a little. "I know you're still stinging from the burn of what happened," I watched Finn's tanned features quickly rise in colour as I spoke each word. "But, you can't let that hold you back."

"Listen McCarren," The timber in Finn voice had taken on an edge to it that made it more than just a grow – it was the kind of guttural that no human could produce and as Finn leaned close so that he wouldn't be overheard, I saw the rim of gold around his iris' flare. In that moment, a true spark of fear prickled along my skin as I stared at the usually so-level headed man that while I didn't like, I admired and to some extent, trusted.

I watched as Finn's nostrils flared and in that moment, I knew he could smell my fear. It must have tasted sweeter than the tang of cheap coffee and grease because Finn's lips parted, drawing in the air riddled with my fear, his pupil's dilating. Unconsciously, he leaned forward, his hands flat against the slightly sticky top of the table, fingers spread in a way that reminded me of a wolf about to pounce on its stalked prey.

Not thinking, I simply acted. Placing my right hand over his left, I left a little current of magic pass through me, through my touch, into Finn. He gave a grunt of surprise, his body jerking like he had received a static shock. It was hardly magic at all – merely the magical energy that surrounded me, survived through me, had given of a reaction to its unfamiliar host. As the green returned to Finn's eyes, I spoke low in warning. "I _can_ use magic and I _will_ if you pull that wolf-shit on me again."

Removing my hand from his, I noted that Finn had kept his stubbornly where it was, refusing to rub the sting that I knew would be there. We sat in silence until the waitress came with our drinks and cutlery. I beamed at her in thanks while Finn merely turned to his coffee, the back of his tanned hand already turning a little red. As the waitress left with the promise that our food was to follow, I arched a brow at my brooding companion, popping the top of my coke can, relishing the familiar hiss and frenzy of bubbles that followed as I dumped most of it into my glass.

"I get it," Raising the soft drink to my lips, I watched as Finns features twisted in disbelief. "You don't like me. You're hardly a gentleman yourself but at least I can remain professional about it."

"Are you questioning my ability to do my job?" The growling had gone and in its place was a low, even tone which raised the hairs on the back of my neck just as well. Shoulder's hunched, Finn's green eyes watched me in that unnerving still way, as if he was drinking in my every move, listening in to every ebb of my pulse, waiting.

Taking a sip, I shook my head. "No, I'm questioning whether or not you can work with _me_." I spied the waitress coming towards us with my omelette and felt my mouth begin to water. She placed the steaming plate in front of me and shot me a smile before departing behind the counter. When I was sure she was gone, I picked up my knife and fork, ignoring the persistent pangs of hunger. "We've worked on a few cases before and to be honest every time you were just on the right side of me filing a complaint for unprofessional conduct." Shovelling the grease mess of deliciousness into my mouth, I chewed in an unlady-like manner. "I thought it was just me being a woman, or even our opposing personalities clashing but now I think it's something more."

Swallowing my mouthful, I leaned a little closer over the table. "Is it because I'm a witch or a magic user in general?"

Taking another swing of my coke, I watched in mild interest as Finn's tanned features turned an interesting shade of red. But, when his eyes dropped to my exposed wrist where my tattoo was clearly on show, I felt my stomach twist.

"Ah," I murmured, my gaze dropping to my plate. "So it's because I'm not lily-white." I busied myself with my food though its appeal was somewhat lost. I was merely eating for the sake of it, no longer enjoying it thanks to Finn's new revelation. I shouldn't be surprised, but as silence settled between us, I found it hard to take. To the white-magic community, I was tainted. A fallen witch seduced by the lull of darkness and it would seem that I wasn't pure enough for a werewolf either.

"Now that we've got that out of the way," I willed my tone to be light as I focused on cutting up more bacon and melted cheese. "Do you want to tell me about what you overheard?" I expected Finn to make some noise of complaint but for once, it would seem that we both were just as eager as the other to change the topic of conversation.

"They've matched the body's description to a missing person's report just filed a few hours ago." Finn brought the coffee to his lips, his green eyes bright through the faint wisps of steam. "Jessica Banks or Madeline 'Mads' Hatter as she was known at _Wonderland_ – last seen leaving the club around five Monday morning."

I blinked. "Another stripper?" I knew of _Wonderland_, its owners being of the few fae who dared to stand the metal of London's bustling city. It served as neutral ground for both the Seelie and Unseelie courts and was exclusive to their own kind and humans. Wonderland was notorious for its outrageous catering of sex and drugs but despite its reputation, Gideon and Llyr Embers enforce a strict security for its staff and customers alike.

Finn nodded. "The fact that she's one of the Ember's girls means that Head Office is high alert. We need to start producing some results – Frank's calling us in tomorrow morning."

"Shit," I yelped a little too loudly, causing some of the builders to glance over at us before looking away in disinterest. Lowering my tone, I could feel that ache behind my eye starting to pound. "I have a contact that's getting me names of all the magic-users in London capable of summoning a demon of that level – I'll see if he can get it done by tomorrow."

Draining the last of his coffee, Finn nodded as he rose to his feet. I remained seated, content to finish what would probably be the only meal I would get today. As I watched Finn fish into his suit pocket for some change, I took another swing of my soda. "I'll guess I'll see you at Frank's."

Finn mumbled something as he dumped a crumpled note onto the table top that sounded suspiciously like "Don't be late."

Rolling my eyes as he left, I found that the note was a twenty – more than enough to cover both of our bills. Glancing over my shoulder to find that he had already left, I found that the last of my omelette tasted a little better than it did before.

The drive home was a quick one, the traffic easing as the day gave way to the night. The sky was already inky black when my heels echoed up the familiar path that led to my apartment complex, the air chilled enough to seep through my blazer, causing me to shiver. Eager to get inside, I quickly made my way to the lift, only to groan when I saw the _Out of Order_ sign. Eying the four-inches I wore, I started for the stairs, fishing out my phone from my bag to call Jean-Claude's number.

Pressing the mobile to my ear, I used my free hand to grip the railing as I all but pulled myself up the first flight. There were a few rings before Jean-Claude picked up. "_Oui?_"

I rolled my eyes before answering. "I'm going to need those names for tomorrow morning."

A string of muttered curses followed, not all of them French. I sniggered, trying to ignore the slight burn in my thighs as I made it to the third floor. After a while, Jean-Claude composed himself enough to sigh. "Very well, but you are a demanding woman Evelyn."

I felt myself smile at that, but keeping it on my lips was more effort than I had. "Yeah, well. There's been another murder. I guess you could say that time is of the essence here." I heard Jean curse again and found myself mentally doing the same. Why the hell had I picked the fifth floor? What was wrong with the second?

"I'll make it up to you this time." I promised as I finally rounded the fifth floor much to my body's delight. Once my work load lessened I mentally vowed to renew my gym membership. Or maybe cast a spell for health and well-being.

On the other end of the line, I could hear Jean-Claude's noise of disbelief. "You said that last time. I'm still waiting on that, how you say, drink?" The lilt at the end of the word _drink_ gave me the not-so-subtle impression that an alcoholic beverage didn't quite make us even.

"Fine," I muttered in exasperation as al but limped down the hallway to my door. "When this is over we can cast another circle." Pressing my phone to my ear and holding it there with my shoulder, I began to rifle in my handbag for my keys.

"I was thinking more along the lines of dinner."

I froze, the phone slipping from my shoulder to clatter against the carpeted floor. I couldn't breathe, my throat constricting painfully. The pounding in my head began to sear, fierce and throbbing to the point where I thought a vein might burst. Distantly, I heard Jean-Claude's voice calling me from somewhere far away, but my senses, my whole focus was consumed on one thing and one thing alone.

_Sulphur. _

And the thick, heady stench was coming right from behind my door.


End file.
